


I Know You'll Understand

by justyoumeandthestars



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, joan dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:16:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justyoumeandthestars/pseuds/justyoumeandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian/Emmett friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know You'll Understand

You don't know what it is, or why you think so highly of nelly bottom queen Emmett Honeycutt. You'd fucked, once, when Emmett had first moved to town. The sex was good, but the friendship was better, you found.

You both had bible banging mothers and drunken fathers. Emmett's may not have laid a hand on him, but deep down you knew Emmett understood what it was like to be afraid.

So this leads you to being completely unsurprised when Emmy-Lou shows up at Joanie's funeral.

You hadn't told anyone she'd died. Not Micheal, not Justin, and sure as fuck not Debbie. But there he was, standing outside of the church nervously rubbing the memorial folder between his fingers. He was wearing basic black dress pants and a plain – fuck, you didn't even think he knew what that word meant – white shirt. When he spots you a shy curl of the mouth comes your way.

When you reach him, he doesn't give you a chance to speak. “Listen here, Kinney. You can keep shit from Mikey and you can keep shit from Sunshine, but you can't fool me. Your mom was shitty to you. I get that. And I understand why you don't want everyone to know that maybe, just maybe, Brian fucking Kinney has feelings. But I'll be damned if my ass – however queer it may be – is going to let you sit alone in a church while Cunty Claire glares at you down the isle.”

And then Emmett pulls you into a hug, and fuck, his country boy arms are stronger than you expected because he is not letting go. “Honeycutt,” you mutters in warning, no real threat permitting.

“Don't call me Honeycutt.” And then he lets go and grabs your hand and you take comfort in realizing that Emmett Honeycutt gives a shit.


End file.
